Author's Note: Another long wait, I know, I'm Sorry! Crazy real world was not participating with me. Writing this chapter I realized how many names I have floating around, so I'll give you all a quick recap...Owen Taylor=victim #1, was an illegal arms dealer. Richard O'Brien #2, expert forger, Daniel Larson #3, crooked lawyer. Of course, numerous security guards were killed in the making of this story, but their names are not important. Sorry security guards. As always, thanks for all your amazing reviews and numerous story alerts! I have the best readers ever! Read on!
"Hotch!" Garcia's shrill voice echoed down the hallway and into the bullpen before she even rounded the corner.
Hotch looked up from his spot at Emily' desk and watched the blonde scurry into the bullpen and come to a stop between Morgan and Reid, in a clatter of heels.
"Hotch, I found something." Garcia tossed a thick folder onto the desk in front of him, sending its contents sliding out across the desk. "Randy Larson mentioned his father was arguing with someone named Rico over the phone just before the power went out. I pulled the phone records and tracked the call back to Elite International's corporate office in Bethesda."
Hotch flipped open the folder and attempted to follow along as she rattled off the new information. He quickly gave up searching through the scattered papers, and turned his full attention to listening.
"I tracked it back to the office of James Donovan. He's the Production Manager for the company's shipping yard in Annapolis. Larson defended him in a wrongful death lawsuit last year after one of his employees was killed in an industrial accident. I dug a little deeper and found one of Donovan's employees that testified in his defense, named Enrico Herrera, friends call him Rico."
"Good work Garcia."
Garcia smiled brightly and watched as Hotch picked up the desk phone and punched in Rossi's extension. He spoke quickly into the receiver, asking Rossi down the bullpen. Once Rossi joined them, Hotch fill him in on what Garcia had found.
"Dave, take Morgan to Bethesda and talk to Herrera." Hotch said, "He may not have anything to do with the gun running operation, but if he does, the Unsub might target him."
"What about Prentiss?" Morgan asked, looking up towards Hotch's office.
"I want to keep her around the office as much as possible for awhile," Hotch answered, "take Reid. Randy mentioned his father was shouting about something called Archer. Find out if Herrera knows who, or what, that is."
Rossi nodded his understanding and the three men grabbed their jackets and set off toward the elevator.
"And Dave," Hotch called across the room. The three men turned to look at him. "Be careful. If he is a part of this, he's not going to want anything to do with us."
Once they disappeared into the elevator, Hotch glanced up at the drawn blinds and closed doors of his office. Emily had been locked away in the dark for just over two hours. He hoped she was actually sleeping and not just humoring him. He sighed and sat back in her chair and attempted to reorganize the file that Garcia had tossed at him.
"Hotch?" Garcia's voice reminded him that she was still standing near Morgan's desk. "Shouldn't we call and warn Herrera that a serial killer might be after him? I mean, this guy is moving really fast, what if the guys don't get there soon enough?"
Hotch thought for a moment and then shook his head no. "These victims are criminals Garcia, possibly terrorists. If we tip him off that we're coming, he'll probably run, and tip off the rest of them. We can't afford to lose our lead. It's all we've got right now."
"This bad guy is only killing really bad guys," Garcia suddenly found the stapler on Morgan's desk very interesting and picked it up, "Does that really make him such a bad guy? He did take care of that little boy."
"Only after killing his father," Hotch added, "Bad men come in all forms Penelope. It's not our job to decide which ones are worse than others."
"I know," she set the stapler back down, bored with the distraction, "I just wish they could all be black and white, good versus evil. I don't like all this gray smudginess."
Hotch offered her a small grin, "We'll do our best to un-smudge it for you. Look at it this way; you've already exposed a possible terrorist group right here in D.C. Now that we're aware of them, we can stop them before they hurt anybody."
"If they live that long," she said quietly.
"We're doing our best to make sure that they do."
Garcia nodded, but Hotch's eyes were drawn over her shoulder. She turned to follow his line of sight, and smiled when Emily pulled the office door closed behind her and quickly closed the distance to join them.
"Sorry, Hotch," she said, looking at her watch, "I didn't mean to sleep that long."
Hotch ignored her unnecessary apology and stood, clearing his things from her desk. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah, thanks." She attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in the shirt she must have retrieved from her ready bag, and changed into before her nap. "Where are the guys?"
"They're on their way to Bethesda to check on a lead," Hotch answered.
"Oh?" Emily felt embarrassed that she'd slept through something important.
"Garcia tracked Daniel Larson's phone records and may have found who he was talking to before he was killed." Hotch explained.
"Rico?"
Hotch nodded, "Enrico Herrera. He's an employee of Owen Taylor's security company. He testified in one of Larson's cases last year. It isn't much, but it's all we've got."
"Hotch," JJ's voice interrupted them as she walked briskly from her office. "I just got off the phone with Assistant Director Mueller. He's given us the interview with Thomas Sikes."
"When?"
"They're moving him now." JJ answered quickly, "You get one hour with him Hotch. I tried to get more, but they wouldn't go for it."
"Garcia, I need everything you have on him, now." Hotch ordered
Garcia was halfway out of the room before he even finished his sentence. "I'm on it," she called back to him, and disappeared.
"I reorganized the file for you," JJ said, "thought it'd be quicker than the mess of information in the other one."
Hotch took the folder from her and flipped through it. All of the crime scene photos were present, and all of Garcia's notes had been typed up and the information pertinent to Sikes had been highlighted. He thanked her just as Garcia came scurrying back into the room with another thick folder, and shoved it into his hands.
"That's everything so far," Garcia panted, "sorry it's a mess. We should really upgrade to tablets."
Hotch raised an eyebrow and turned on his heels, ignoring the comment, "Prentiss, you're with me."
Emily quickly grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and jogged after him as he stepped into the elevator. While they rode the elevator to the lobby, Hotch gave her a quick briefing about what she had missed of the team's meeting while she had been sleeping. They quickly made their way through the lobby, deep in conversation, until they were hit with the cold air from the courtyard. A sudden throbbing in her elbow hit Emily, reminding her of the last time she'd been outside, and she couldn't help but to look around them for any hidden camera lenses. Hotch seemed to sense her discomfort and picked up his pace, distracting her with the task of keeping up with him. They finally made it to the parking structure and climbed into the safety of the darkly tinted SUV.
They made the drive in record time with a determined Hotch at the wheel, and quickly checked in through security and were escorted to the holding cell. They took a moment to observe Sikes through the one way glass barrier before entering the room. He still held the same clean cut, authoritive demeanor that he'd had in the black and white photos they'd seen, despite his absent suit and present orange jumpsuit. He sat straight in his chair, with his folded hands secured to the table, staring directly in front of him, as if he could see them through the glass.
"You've got one hour Agents," they were directed to the door by another agent, whose badge identified him as Parks. "Good luck."
Hotch and Emily quietly entered the room, ignoring his dark eyes following them as they took their seats across the table.
"Mr. Sikes, I'm SSA Hotchner, this is SSA Prentiss. We'd like to ask you a few questions," Hotch began, setting his files on the table in front of him. When the man said nothing, he pulled the photos of Owen Taylor and Richard O'Brien from the folder, and set them on the table in front of him. "Do you know these men?"
Sikes glared at them for a few seconds before dropping his eyes down to the photos. "No."
"What about Philip Gilchrest, do you know him?"
"Never heard of him."
"I find that hard to believe," Hotch pulled the bank records from the folder and spun it on the table to face Sikes, "since you paid him close to seventeen million dollars over the last two years."
Sikes didn't blink at the accusation and continued to glare at the two agents. Hotch glared right back at him for a few seconds before pointing down at the photo of Owen Taylor's body.
"Someone broke into a warehouse full of illegal guns, and cut Owen's throat, Mr. Sikes. Do you have any idea who would have done that?" Hotch asked.
"How would I know?" Sikes growled.
"We believe both of these men were killed by someone who really wants to shut down your operation Thomas." Hotch chose his words carefully, "We already have all the proof we need to keep you here for the rest of your life. We aren't looking for you to incriminate yourself. We're here to catch a killer."
Sikes let out a raspy laugh and leaned forward in his chair, setting his elbows on the table. "Prove it."
Hotch accepted the challenge and pulled various highlighted papers from his file. "You paid seventeen million dollars to Philip Gilchrest, an alias of Owen Taylor. Owen's body was found in a warehouse surrounded by illegal firearms. He didn't have time to properly dispose of anything before he was killed. We found his shipping manifest, for the guns in the warehouse Thomas. Your name was on it."
Sikes clenched his jaw and sat straighter in his chair, signaling to Hotch that he had him.
"I'm not talking to you without my lawyer." Sikes rasped.
"Just one little problem with that," Emily spoke up, pulling Larson's photo from her file and sliding it across the table to him, "your lawyer is dead."
The man scowled at the photo, clenching his jaw over and over as his face slowly reddened. They remained silent for a few seconds, letting his anger sink in.
"Who's killing your men Thomas?" Emily asked.
"I want a phone call," he said quietly.
"Not gonna happen," Emily shook her head.
"I want to warn my family," Sikes spoke gruffly, "you give me a phone call, and I'll tell you everything. That's the deal."
Sikes sat back in his chair and resumed his glare, signaling that he was done talking. Emily looked to Hotch, who appeared to be thinking through his request. He collected his file, leaving the photos for Sikes to see and stood, motioning Emily to follow him out. Agent Parks met them on the other side of the door.
"Absolutely not," Parks barked the moment the door was closed.
"Agent Parks, I understand that giving him a call is a big risk," Hotch argued, "but lives are at stake. Someone has it in for this guy, and he's killing everyone in his path."
"I understand where you're coming from Agent Hotchner, I really do, but we've used too many resources and too much man power building this case, to have it blown with a phone call." Parks replied.
"I realize that, but your case is already made Agent Parks. Sikes is going away for the rest of his life, whether he tips the rest of them off or not. I guarantee, any further information we discover during our investigation, pertaining to your case, will be forwarded directly to you." Hotch reasoned.
Parks shifted on his feet, eyeing the man in question through the small window on the steel door. Hotch could see the wheels in his head turning and his walls start to fall, as the agent though over his argument.
"Seven people are dead, Agent Parks," Hotch continued, "In less than seventy-two hours, this Unsub has shot, stabbed, and strangled seven people. Sikes might have the only information we need to stop him before he kills another one."
Parks thought for a few more seconds before finally speaking, "Alright Hotchner. One phone call, and make it a quick one. If he throws this case, it's your ass."
"Understood." Hotch nodded and Emily followed him back into the interrogation room.
Sikes watched them smugly as they took their seats. Hotch carefully pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and set it on the table. He eyed Sikes as he turned on the speakerphone feature, and slid the phone across the table until he could reach it with his secured hands.
"You have five minutes," Hotch spoke in a low tone.
Sikes gave him a smirk and pulled against his restraints, to type the numbers on the device. The muffled ringing echoed throughout the small room, before a man's voice answered.
"It's Tom." Sikes leaned in close to the phone as he picked it up in his hands.
"Jesus Sikes," the voice barked, "What the hell is going on in there?"
Hotch and Emily's ears perked at the excited tone in the man's voice, but Sikes appeared unaffected.
"Larson is dead Jim," Sikes said, "I need a new lawyer before my hearing next week."
"I'll have one there first thing tomorrow."
Hotch glanced at Emily, whose eyes told him that the direction of the call was making her just as uneasy as he felt. Hotch quickly turned his eyes back to Sikes, and waved his finger in the air, signaling him to finish his call.
"Jim, how's Kelly holdin up?" Sikes asked, glaring at Hotch.
Hotch quickly connected the name of the man's wife that they had learned from Garcia's file, during the ride from Quantico.
"She's doin alright," the voice answered, "we're takin good care of her Tommy, don't worry."
"Alright, that'sgood. They're tellin me my times up. I've got just one more favor to ask."
"Name it buddy, I'll take care of it."
Sikes sat forward onto his elbows and spoke directly into the phone clasped tightly in his hands. "Find Foster, and kill that son of a bitch."
Both Agents shot up from their seats, before he had even finished the sentence. Hotch grabbed him around his shoulders, pulling him up away from the table, as Emily attempted to dislodge the phone from his hands. Sikes hunched in tight over his hands, fighting to hold them off as he continued to yell.
"…and then, I want you to cut Archer's heart out!"
Emily finally managed to rip the phone from his hands, feeling one of his fingers pop under her grip. By the time Agent Parks burst through the door, Hotch had Sikes pinned, face down, against the table. Sikes laughed manically as Parks and another Agent swept into the room, moving Hotch and Emily out of the way, and pulling Sikes up from the table.
"We're done here," Parks barked, "I hope you got what you needed."
They watched as Parks escorted the smiling man out of the room, leaving the door hanging wide. Hotch stared after them, mentally kicking himself. Sikes hadn't blown Parks' investigation at least, but he'd managed to order the deaths of two people in a matter of seconds. Hotch only hoped the names of the unfortunate targets would give them a solid lead. Emily pulled him from his thoughts when she tapped against his arm, and handed him back his phone.
"We need to go Hotch," Emily spoke softly, "Maybe we can stop him before he makes his move."
Hotch quickly punched in his speed dial and lifted the phone to his ear as he led them from the room, and through the bustling facility.
"House of Insanity, how may I direct your call," Garcia chirped.
"Garcia, I need you to run the last number dialed from my phone, and tell me where it came from. I need an address, ASAP."
As they hurried from the building to the SUV, he could hear Garcia's fingernails clicking frantically against the plastic keys of her keyboard.
"Bethesda," she read from her screen, "searching for an address… oh look at that, James Donovan's office."
Hotch hung up the phone without another word to Garcia, as he climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV. Emily followed, watching him with wide eyes, awaiting direction.
"Call Morgan," he ordered as he pulled the SUV from the parking structure and hit the sirens, "tell him to forget about Herrera. The call was to Donovan, they could be right there."
Emily quickly retrieved her phone, wincing when her injured elbow connected with the armrest as Hotch turned sharply into traffic. He ignored the indignant wailing of horns, vocalizing their disapproval at his lack of consideration for traffic laws, and sped off down the interstate.
Morgan pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket as he, Rossi, and Reid followed a secretary down the hall of the Elite International's corporate center. He eyed Emily's familiar number on the display readout and caught Rossi's attention.
"I'll catch up to you," he advised, and fell back to answer the phone, "hey Princess, how was your nap?"
Emily ignored his teasing, "Morgan, forget about Rico, find Donovan."
"Donovan? Why?"
"He's the link. Sikes just called him and ordered a hit on two people," Emily explained quickly, "We're about fifteen minutes out, but you need to stop him before he passes on the order."
"Rossi!" Morgan shouted down the hall. Rossi and Reid spun to face him. "It's Donovan."
Morgan turned on his heels, sticking his phone back into his pocket, and took off back down the hallway, in the direction they had come. Rossi and Reid jogged after him, ignoring the protests of the secretary. Morgan avoided the elevator they had taken down, and moved straight for the stairs. Once they emerged, two floors higher, he pulled his gun from his hip and posted himself against the doorframe of the office they had just been in, a mere twenty minutes earlier.
Rossi followed suit, pulling his gun and took up position against the opposite doorframe. With a quick nod, Morgan pushed the door in, yelling out to identify themselves. Their guns led their way into the room, Morgan moved right, while Rossi went left, and Reid straight down the middle. They immediately realized the room was empty.
"Damn it," Morgan swore, "he probably took off the second we stepped out of the room."
"Call Hotch," Rossi instructed, and tucked his gun back into its holster, "tell him Donovan is in the wind."
James Donovan had nearly choked on his coffee when the FBI knocked on his door. He'd been dealing with irate customers, and disrupted shipments for the entire morning. Someone was killing off their top production resources, and, with Sikes in lockup, damage control had become his responsibility. Just when he thought he'd smoothed things over enough, the FBI was asking questions.
He'd surprised himself with presented calm demeanor, despite the adrenaline flowing through his veins. He quickly calmed, when he'd realized they weren't looking for him. Though he had been confused to how they'd come by Rico's name, he had no doubt that the man could handle the three agents. He had, no doubt, had his share of run ins with the feds. Rico was unshakeable, and from the sound of it, the feds were fishing. So Donovan had given them Rico's location. Of course, the moment they had left his office, he'd called Rico to let him know they were coming.
Shortly after, Sikes had called. His tone had the adrenaline in his blood pumping again. The feds were closer than they'd realized. The moment Sikes had barked the order, Donovan could hear the scuffling and yelling of multiple people, and knew his boss had just thrown himself to the wolves. There would be no turning back now.
Donovan shot to his feet, grabbed his briefcase and made a beeline for the lobby. He had to get out before whoever had been in with Sikes tipped off the Agents that were somewhere in the building. He hurried through the lobby, avoiding the curious look from the security desk and once he stepped outside, he broke into a fast jog to the parking structure.
A sudden screech of tires against the smooth concrete pulled his attention, and he was blinded by the harshness of the setting sun. He lifted his hand against the light, and heard the revving engine of the truck before he actually saw it. He barely registered the screeching of the brakes locking up, seconds before the impact set rattling pain from his toes and up his spine. He hit the ground hard, lying dazed on the concrete. He groaned and blinked up at the ceiling of the parking structure before a dark silhouette of someone intruded his sight.
"Oops."
The simple word and mechanical laugh made Donovan's skin crawl. He attempted to roll onto his hands and knees to right himself, but pain shot through his arm and shoulder. He slumped, realizing the small puddle of blood forming under his hand.
"The feds will be here soon," the voice spoke close, "let's go."
A strong hand clasped around his shoulder, making him wince, but pulling him up to stand. Donovan wobbled on shaky legs as the figure spun him quickly toward the open door of the truck that had hit him. Now that he was on his feet, he wanted to run. His car was close, but his broken body refused. He simply held himself stiff, refusing to get into the truck. His assailant pushed harder, and he cried out as he pushed back. A sudden strike landed against his jaw and he saw stars, losing his balance. He felt his feet being lifted as he was folded into the backseat of the truck. He fought the pain in his head, but the fog was closing in. His body was giving up on him. As the felt the truck move forward, and heard the squeal of the tires underneath him, he knew his time was up.
JJ glanced at the clock on the wall on the bullpen, reading shortly after 1am when the rest of the team came shuffling out of the elevator. Their slumped shoulders and lazy steps let off an aura of pure exhaustion. As they slumped into their desks, she couldn't help but think they looked defeated. She gave them all a sympathetic smile as she passed them and headed to Hotch's office. Hotch was just sitting down when she entered.
"Garcia is still running everything she can on the victims," JJ said quietly, "so far, she hasn't found anything on anyone named Foster, or Archer."
Hotch's scowl deepened, and he rubbed his hands over his face. "What about Lambert?"
"Garcia was able to find the car he used from one of the parking garage cameras," she said, "she traced it back to a rental agency in D.C. It was rented to a Keith Frasier, but they gave us a positive ID on Lambert's photo. The car had already been returned. He must have taken it back right after leaving here."
"That's a good start. How's Garcia holding up? We've been running her ragged today?" he asked.
"She's tired," JJ confessed, "but we're all tired. I've set up the agents you asked for. They've been watching her place since about four."
"Good," Hotch risked a glance through his window at his team. Morgan was walking away in the direction of Garcia's office; Reid had his head resting in his hand as he scribbled into a file on his desk, while Emily had let her head rest on her arm, folded onto her desk. He was glad she'd conceded to taking a nap during the day. She was exhausted and he didn't want to think about how awful she'd be feeling now if she hadn't. She wasn't going to like that he'd assigned two agents to watch her home, to make sure she was safe from Lambert. He just hoped she'd be too tired to make a fuss about it.
"Get Garcia," he spoke to JJ, "It's time to call it a night."
Donovan was ripped back to consciousness by the blast of frigid water, that stung his face, making his eyes burn. He gasped and sputtered, crying out at the pain it caused in his chest. It took him a moment to focus on the black clad figure sitting on the table a few feet in front of him. The dim light glinted off the pistol in hand, as the figure rotated it slowly between his gloves.
"Who are you?" Donovan groaned, "What do you want?"
"You know exactly who I am James," the robotic voice sounded loud in the silent room. "How did you find him?"
"Find who?"
In an instant, Donovan's head was spinning from the solid hit to the face. His nose popped, and blood gushed down into his mouth.
"We can keep playing this game," even through the voice distorter, his attacker's voice sounded stressed, "or you can tell me. How did you find Foster?"
Understanding hit him and his eyes shot up to the masked figure in front of him. "Archer?"
The end of the gun made another solid hit to opposite side of his face sent him sprawling from his chair and he heard his already broken wrist pop. His cry echoed through the room, and he prayed that someone had heard him.
"So, we've established who I am," Archer crouched in front of him, "what do you want with Foster?"
Donovan groaned, his broken body protesting the abuse. He attempted to roll over onto his back to face his interrogator, but Archer's foot came down on his hand, holding him in place.
"You," he cried out, "Sikes was gonna use Foster to get to you!"
Archer stood slowly, allowing Donovan to pull his hand to his chest and roll over onto his back.
"I was gonna kill you Donovan," Archer spoke, tucking the gun into his waistband. "but I have a job for you. You tell Sikes, if he wants me, I'm coming for him."
Donovan watched from the floor as Archer pulled a cell phone and set of keys from a cargo pocket and set them on the table. Without another word, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Donovan wet, freezing, and in pain on the floor.
The shrill ring of the phone on his nightstand ripped Hotch from the deepest sleep he'd experienced in weeks. He sat straight up, grabbing the device and rubbed his hand over his face.
"Hotchner," he croaked.
"Agent Hotchner," the phone squawked, "Detective Kimble. We've got another one. You're gonna want get out of bed for this one."
"What's different?" Hotch was already kicking off his blankets and moving to retrieve his clothes from his closet.
"He survived."
Author's Note: Our other baddie has a name now, yay! Hope it was worth the wait. Click it and let me know what you think!
